What He Becomes
by KMcupid
Summary: Post-Avengers, some form of punishment for Loki. Just read to find out :P


What he sees before him, makes him fear himself. The pacing he continues terrifies him, his hurried steps echoing off the wall in a melancholy tone as if repeating hollowed out threats no longer a notion to its victim. His own footsteps, his own tattered leather boots that strike weak bolts of lighting into the tarnished bronze floor; yet even he doesn't dare believe it. Its not himself its the monster thats inches behind him. He swears to himself it's the thing, feeling the icy breath down his neck, the casual morbid chuckle that vibrates the air, when he turns to face it, nothing but his previous footfalls remain. But if he stops, then it will surely have him.

Treading from what he is to become, is destined to be.

"The current self conscious I have is running from what I'll be," He thinks.

"Why run from what I wish to be? Why fear what is my destiny? What is my purpose!"

"Is the 'becoming' of me so frightful, so powerful that I now fear myself?"

"STOP THIS BLOODY PACING!" He shouts, unlike the steps his voice does not echo. No, Odin took that from his a long time ago, no longer is he able to repeat words once said. Marching up to the cold emotionless reflection of a mirror, his pale face contortioned into rage falling ever so slightly when his bony hand wrapped around the surface, his other clawing at the reflection.

"Why do I feel and the future me be so unmoving?!" he asks as if suspecting an answer. Of course Odin took that away from him as well. Banished to a world with his becoming showed to him in an madining reflection.

"My eyes fill with what I never had and the rest of me stay silent!" This crescendo of volume died off and only seconds after was forgotten as if never said.

"Why?! Why do I have to face such conflection?! Why do I not know the reason for my own pleasure?!" His face only inches from the other, rage and confusion against unfeeling madness.

"I've known I am to march into this future form of power since my childhood! yet, I still do not know." he whispers causing his breath to create fog on the glass. His green eyes vibrant with confusion.

"TELL MEEE!" He shouts pounding against the opposing image. He pants, out of breath from his yelling fit, mind racing with his constant pondering. The silver lining of the room blends to a smokey gray, the bronze to a tasteless brown. Clutching to the only solid surface he can still assure hasn't blurred together, still he shouts, still he spits vial venomous words toward his other self.

"No!...NO!..NO! This is NOT me! This is some lie that Allfather has conjured up. Made for me to ponder on how I would..could escape and ravage the nine realms!" His voice shaking and breath ragged with exhaustion that slowly takes over him.

Before more can be said a hand like a striking cobra, bites tightly onto its prays throat. As if feeling the venom seep through his bloodstream he struggles helplessly, he screams in pain as the poison swirls within his eyes turning them from a bright emerald to a mud like green, his pupils expand until nothing but black clouds his vision. He is left without sight, unable to witness as a larger more powerful figure emerges from the mirror. Muscular legs clad in black trousers leather boots as dark as night lined with sun shining gold create an oxymoronic tone. His lean powerful torso attired in the same matching gold and ebony coloring, viridescent cloak draped behind him and outlining his toned arms. Bronzed taurian horns towered above him, eyes the shade of jade, hair slicked back and dark as the coals of Hel, and a smile as charming as a snake.

Hand still tightly woven around the weaker ones neck he can feel the fear vibrating from him. Closing his dazzling eyes and breathing in the air as if smelling a sweet scent, he chuckled lowly bringing a chill into the room. Suddenly he seems to not enjoy himself, his handsome features turning into a face of inspection. His freezing eyes look over his frailer self, dragging him a bit closer to his face. A muffled shriek breaks from the others lips, for all he can see with his blindness was those eyes, those nightmare giving eyes.

"Oh shut up!" the larger commands sounding annoyed, throwing the other into a heap of skin and bones as easily as he would an empty mug of mead. All he receives in reply is whimpers, striding over toward the cowering man, he looks down in mock pity.

"How weak you have become, to fear your own self. To fear your own creation," Sympathy leaks from his voice like a cracked roof, but quickly is plugged up with his continued mantra. "And how STUPID of you to think Odin could create something as powerful as me!" a swift kick is delivered to the lowly figure, blood dripping up his throat and down his lips. More moans escape the heaving mass of a person.

Upon seeing the crimson liquid the larger smiles, a cruel idea flashed into his wicked mind. Crouching down beside the other he gently lifts his other's face. Caressing his bruised feeble twin, he murmurs apologetic lies that fly off his lips like silk on skin. Bringing his face mere inches from his other he looks almost romantically into his blinded eyes. Whispering as lovers do to another he brings his bright lips to the others ear, his voice mimics the sound of moth wings fluttering, making his prey cease to tremble at its sound.

"I can make it all better. I can show you how we can coexist, how we can both rule." The lie breaches the inadequate other, but already he can sense his stronger self's trickery. And stronger the other is indeed, instead of creating a false security with his silver tongue, it weaves its way into your mind, your core, striking you numb. Making you desperate for whatever emotion he can promise. With a lethargic nod from his victim, the more skillful liar smirks. Still embracing his past self's hollowed out face, he murmurs sweet fabrications of warmth and power, of all things he obtains and the other craves.

Pulling out of thin air a needle and twine, he places the tip of the needle below the corner of the others cracked lips. His eyes alight with joy and a sadistic grin like that of a Cheshire cat reaches from ear to ear. Pressing lightly at first but adding more pressure until a trickle of liquid rubies runs smoothly over the others already blood stained chin. Pressing still more as a maddening laugh floods the blurred room, the needle breaks cleanly onto the outside of his upper lip. His cackle impersonates perfectly that of a dying jackle. With substantial force he yanks the twine tight to ensure his only competitor can finally be silenced.

Twisting in pain from the syringes entrance and exit, he yelps, but finds strange comfort from the assurance that the tailor provides through outburst of morbid laughter. "Shhh", he whispers, "Think of the greatness, of the revange we shall rain upon those who have harmed us." With these hopes, these aspirations dangling so close in front of him he suddenly feels more relaxed. And surprisingly he enjoys the sharp pain and pull of the thread as his lips are securely sealed. Even so far as to push slightly with his tongue on the newly acquired muzzle, humming as to make the twine vibrate, loving the sensation of the string pulling sharply on his open flesh.

Fashioning a semi-large knot on the last stitch, he stands,returning to towering over his now blind and mute rival. It almost made him sick himself to see such a pathetic warped version of himself. Something so different, yet a replica. To witness such a masochistic, mad man of himself made him produce a deep throated growl.

This demented aggression, he ponders looking down at the now sleeping figure who blood stains the floor along with his own hands. Does it lie dormant in everyone? Or only the selected few it chooses as its victims?

"NO! No! I am not a victim!" his voice booms throughout the chamber. Fist clenched and teeth pressed together, he takes a moment to calm himself. Several deep breaths relieves his frustration but also leaving the room covered in a icy frost. With one last grin that suggest anything but pure intentions, he grips the frame of the mirror stepping only half way until turning toward the sleeping figure.

With words of lovely vibrations but the texture of the harshest of truths he speaks honestly with no regret from keeping such veracities.

"I am Loki of Asgard, true King to all and everything. I am not one to be laughed at nor petited, for everyone I have ever known or will come to know is lesser than I. For the reflection of my self is a monster that should strike fear into the hearts of the who feel fear of something else let their nightmares be better than they. So I am your nightmare,"

His eyes scream with empathy and his voice can barely contain the pain he and the now twitching figure on the floor share as he whispers "I am my own nightmare."

Saying such a long realized fact relived some sort of weight from his shoulders, now able to stand to his full height and voice returned to its powerful boom he sent daggers of jade and emerald toward the trembling figure.

" I am the only thing below what I have become, what I have manifested into. My hatred for others in the denial I face from my self loathing. I am nothing, I am the nightmares I dream at night, I am the very fabric of what I dedicate those dark dreams to. I am everything, I am you! Yes even I am the submissive pitiful excuse for a God that sprawls at my feet! I AM THE PRODUCT OF YOUR EVIL!"

With those finale words he walks fully into the mirror, immersing himself into the clear water like substance before it hardens and all that remains in the evil snake of a smirk that never changes.

Finding himself opening his eyes to the room as he knew it before and not some colorless dimensions of his own hellish thoughts, he pulls his sore frame from the ground. Limping over toward the mirror, his eyes widen in fright as to find the reflection changed. His mouth sewn together with twine. And as quickly as the realization hit him the image changed to the original reflection, except this one included a grin that reminded him off what all happened.

His mind swarmed like bees in a hive trying to find their way out yet not exit presented itself. Clawing at his lips he desperately tried to relieve himself of the screams and shouts that bubbled and steamed over behind his lips. Falling to his knees, tears streaming down his blood streaked face, his eyes glazed over and body trembled as his own fears, nightmares and hatred consumed him. The screams erupting through closed lips and cries wilting like dying flowers.


End file.
